


Again

by Carrogath



Series: Present Tense [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:01:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23568025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carrogath/pseuds/Carrogath
Summary: It's been a minute since Dorothea's had sex with anyone, and if she screws up this time she's pretty sure she'll regret it for the rest of her life.Mercedes is sympathetic. Probably.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Mercedes von Martritz
Series: Present Tense [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1756927
Kudos: 63





	Again

**Author's Note:**

> ~~technically a direct sequel to[Present Tense](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23471461) but I'm tired of making series and it makes sense without it~~ and now there's a series!

The days immediately following the war were days of sheer exhaustion. Victory had come at a steep cost, soaked in blood and powdered in ash, with smoke billowing out from every street and every rooftop in Fhirdiad. Annette’s father, Gilbert, had been the one to signal the Kingdom’s surrender. But by the time Rhea had fallen, it had all been a foregone conclusion. The Immaculate One had fallen. The truth of the Church of Seiros had been exposed. Even the professor, it seemed, had lost the divine spark that had led the Adrestian forces to glory; the professor’s hair and eyes had reverted back to their original state. Edelgard, as ever, was insistent that this change would be for good. She appeared tireless in the wake of it—though she always did, no matter how badly off she really was. In the immediate aftermath of the battle, Dorothea noticed that she spent much of her time out of the public eye alone with Hubert or the professor, looking small and pale and haggard. Rumors abounded that both she and Lysithea shared some sort of strange magical disease that shortened their lifespan—it wasn’t exactly a secret that Edelgard could manifest two separate Crests, but it was certainly odd, and it was apparently harmful.

Mercedes spent all of her time both awake and nearly always busy. It was as if they weren’t in a relationship at all. She only ever asked Dorothea to help with chores or with healing, and wore a mask as fixed and as rigid as Edelgard’s own. The battle had left thousands dead, and tens of thousands more injured. They couldn’t be in charge of everyone, of course, but Mercedes acted as though she could have known every soldier’s name by heart.

When they finally left the scene of the battle, the streets of Fhirdiad were as white as the fallen snow.

Garreg Mach was a brief respite from the soon-to-be-monumental reconstruction effort. Edelgard had completely vanished by then, as had many of their other companions. Dorothea dragged herself to bed and slept for an entire day, and celebrations were still happening in every corner of the monastery when she awoke, and she spent the whole day selfishly looking for Mercedes, only to discover that evening that she was caught in talks between Jeritza and Edelgard regarding his retirement from the position of “Death Knight.” Ferdinand was drunk out of his mind; Bernadetta and Petra had gone to be somewhere quiet together, bless their souls; and Manuela and Hanneman, were, well, they were doing _something_ together, and whether that something was sexually charged or not Dorothea had even less of a desire to find out.

She refused several glasses of wine that were being shoved at her as she wandered the monastery grounds, mainly because she was already horny from thinking about Mercedes the whole day and being inebriated on top of that would have just made her feel worse.

When she looked up, she noticed she was in the same spot she had been when they had met the night of the ball: around the long line of dorms across from the training yard, close to where hers and Bernie’s and Petra’s rooms all were. She heaved a sigh, and dragged herself back to her room.

There was a note slipped under the door, in Mercedes’s wispy, delicate handwriting: _Please take a bath and wait for me. I won’t be long. - M.M._

Dorothea skimmed it again.

She only had to once, and just to make sure she was reading it correctly, because there was only one reason Mercedes would explicitly ask her to bathe this late at night, and they both knew it.

During her time at the opera house in Enbarr, Dorothea liked to mix a few drops of perfume into the water she would be bathing in; the scent would rise with the steam and fill the whole room with pleasant smells. She’d been gifted a few fragrant soaps by suitors and the like after shows and during public events—and there was whatever Mercedes wore, that spicy, earthy, lavender thing that made her smell rather agreeably like an herb garden. Though she hadn’t had much time to care of herself during the war, she took her time bathing now: she even let a few drops of expensive perfume she had been saving into the water, because if anyone was worth it, that person was definitely Mercedes.

She looked herself over, too, as she soaped herself, at her hair and at her skin and her scars. Her breasts and her nipples. Her knees and the tips of her toes. She even bent over and glanced at her clitoris, as if it’d have disappeared if she wasn’t looking, and her mind immediately jumped ahead to an hour from now when Mercedes would be here and they’d be having sex, maybe, presumably, and of all things felt a wave of relief wash over her when she realized she still had confidence in her body and her appearance and her ability to seduce other people. She could definitely look Mercedes in the eye when they were both completely naked.

Definitely.

She dried herself off and put on a nightgown and forced herself to wait by pulling out one of her old magic textbooks from her trunk and glancing over it in the candlelight, even though the war was over and she knew all of this already and had used all that knowledge several times before to kill or maim or terrorize. She slammed the book shut and groaned. She lay on her back on the bed. She closed her eyes, and imagined how it would feel to take Mercedes on top of her (not that her imagination had needed much; they’d gotten close before). She couldn’t recall the last time she felt anticipation rather than dread—enthusiasm rather than anxiety.

Most of all, though, even a glancing touch between her legs spent staggering shocks up her spine. If they weren’t going to do anything now, then she was at least going to touch herself later.

There was a knock on the door.

“Dorothea?”

_Oh, Cichol, Cethleann, Indech and Macuil._

“I’m coming,” she said, and she certainly hoped she’d be.

Mercedes had changed out of her day clothes into something far more simple—a kirtle and a smock, easy to unlace and remove—and how she desperately wanted an explanation for whatever was happening right now.

“I’m…” She paused at the door. “That’s a delightful scent you’re wearing.”

Dorothea grinned. “One of the last gifts I was given before leaving the opera house. I don’t remember who it was—actually…” She thought again. “It wasn’t a suitor, oh, thank the goddess… It was the owner of the opera house, Giancarlo Valenti. He was a good man.” She took a step back. “I think he’s still around. I hope.”

“I hope you weren’t too confused by the note—”

“I will be if you don’t tell me exactly what’s going on.”

“I…” Mercedes shut the door behind her. “Well, I wanted to try making love.” The sentence came out in a rush, as if it’d have never left her mouth if she didn’t say it all at once. “But we were so busy, and, um… it didn’t seem appropriate until now. It’s a bit quieter than it has been.”

“What made you change your mind?” Dorothea asked, as if her heart weren’t pounding so hard it might burst out of her chest and take her lungs away with it.

“I had my reasons,” she replied. She didn’t say anything else.

“As in…?”

“I just wanted to be close to you.”

Dorothea couldn’t find anything but the truth in that.

“Well,” Dorothea sat on the bed. “Here I am.”

Mercedes remained fixed to the spot.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on.” She patted the space next to her. “We can’t do anything if we’re that far apart.”

She sat, but she was obviously stiff. Dorothea turned to her, and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Mercedes.”

“I’m…” She looked away.

“Stiff as a board, yes, I know. I’m pretty sure I’ve held rocks softer than you.” She sighed and began massaging her shoulder, and felt, little by little, the tension begin to leave her body.

Mercedes leaned in, and pressed herself against Dorothea, gripping onto her shoulders with a bit more force than necessary. She kissed her once, and then pulled away and looked at her.

Dorothea placed her hands on her chest, and looked her in the eyes. “Hey,” she said.

“No,” she said, “it’s all right. I’m not… This isn’t my first time,” and it came out fast again, _thisisn’tmyfirsttime_ , and Dorothea felt an unsettling plunge in her stomach at the implications of that.

“D-don’t force yourself.”

“I’m not.” Mercedes glared at her. “I just, well…” She looked down at the bedspread. “I do want this. I just… I don’t know how to ask.” She kissed her again, more forcefully, and Dorothea let herself be led along, cradling the back of her head so as to better kiss her back, and opening her mouth when she felt a tongue brush across her lips.

Mercedes was a good kisser, not necessarily because she was experienced but because she was attentive and patient, and once she figured out what Dorothea liked had no trouble whatsoever adjusting her hands or her mouth or her body to fit it.

Dorothea pulled away and brushed the bangs out of Mercedes’s face. She still wouldn’t look her in the eye.

 _Stubborn ass_ , she thought.

“What do you want?” Dorothea asked.

“Take off your clothes.” It sounded insistent, bossy—the tone of voice Mercedes used when she was directing other medics on the battlefield—but it was also the same tone Edelgard used when she wanted to sound authoritative but had no idea what she was doing. _Stop thinking about Edelgard, you whore._

She did, and she was less nervous about it than she thought she’d be, because as soon as she did Mercedes asked her to help remove hers too, until they were both naked on the bed. Mercedes was not precisely as she’d imagined naked, but the fact that her breasts were a different shape than she’d thought or that she had a terrifying, long scar running up from her right thigh to her stomach didn’t stop Dorothea from admiring the rest of her: the freckles along her shoulders and scattered across her chest, the impossibly perfect curve of her hips, the dark patch of hair between her thighs. She wanted her wet and open and glistening and clamped down on the thought, and bit down on the inside of her lip as Mercedes lay on her back.

She looked a little more relaxed as Dorothea worked open her legs.

“Still comfortable?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Mercedes wasn’t really the type to say “mm-hmm.”

Then she slipped herself between them, and Mercedes decided then to go completely red in the face.

“What?”

“N-nothing,” she replied, still looking startled. She was a bit wet, when Dorothea had looked, not enough to take more than a finger or two, and Dorothea didn’t want to do anything until she was all but begging for it. Ruining the moment this early in their relationship would have killed her.

Dorothea leaned over and kissed her, and Mercedes wrapped her arms around her shoulders to hold her close. They were about the same height, so it was easy for her to hold on as Dorothea slipped her hand away and down the rest of her body, poking and prodding in places that made her feel miserably like she was checking for injuries on a patient. She slipped down, and pressed kisses into her neck and then her shoulder and then her collarbone, licking a wet trail down between her breasts while she nudged her legs open with a thigh.

She sucked between her breasts with an unrepentant groan, just barely aware of how hard Mercedes was breathing above her, and pressed a little harder between her legs.

Mercedes _moaned_.

Dorothea pushed herself up. “Yes?” she asked, breathless.

“Y-yes… Yes, what?” Mercedes murmured.

“I mean, can I… Can I touch you?”

She blinked.

“Can I use my fingers, I mean,” Dorothea groaned in frustration, “can I make love to you that way?”

“Oh.” Her voice was husky, roughened by arousal. Her brows drew together. “Um…”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no.’”

“Sorry. I… I think I need a little more time. But when I do, um, yes. You can.”

She returned to lavishing attention on her breasts—they deserved it—brushing her thumb around her left nipple, feeling Mercedes squirm and gasp underneath her, and cautiously, moved her mouth on top of her right breast. She paused, and flicked her tongue out against the nipple.

“Ah!”

Then she moved her mouth over it, and sucked. Mercedes’s legs opened underneath her again, grinding against her thigh, and Dorothea pulled away and sucked in a breath, moving her hand between her legs and brushing her fingers against her folds to discover how wet she was, and by the time she pushed a finger into her Mercedes was past the point of saying anything at all.

She took two fingers easily, gasping her name as Dorothea took her, rocking into her hand as they settled into a rhythm. Dorothea could feel her whole body tense up and her inner walls flutter around her fingers as she neared her climax, straining and then pumping her hips into her hand until she came with a jolt and a broken cry, and Dorothea let out a harsh gasp when she _felt_ it. She guided her through the rest of it, careful to avoid overstimulating her, but Goddess, was she near to the point of touching herself when Mercedes was finally done.

“That was loud,” Mercedes mumbled.

“Oh, shut up. You were fine.” She made eye contact as she moved to pull her fingers out of her, and Mercedes let out a little huff as she did. Then she looked down, suddenly awkward.

“What’s wrong?”

“Um, well… If you’re not too tired…”

“Oh,” said Mercedes, “you want me to touch you.”

“If you want,” Dorothea quickly added.

“I do,” she said, and helped her onto her back.

Mercedes’s eyes skimmed over her bare body. Then, saying nothing, she leaned over and fingered her entrance, stroking up and down, but not quite entering. Dorothea groaned and thrust against what little contact there was, and then gasped in surprise when Mercedes moved up to her clit, slicking it with her own arousal.

“Fuck,” she groaned. She whimpered, rocking into Mercedes’s palm as she stroked her clit, and moaning low when she finally entered her with two fingers. She squeezed—already—around whatever was inside of her, wet and ready to take more, but nowhere near close to orgasm. “I… I need more,” she said, and let out another shaky breath when she felt another finger enter her.

Mercedes didn’t thrust into her, not yet.

“You’re so tense,” she said.

“It’s been a minute.” She was dripping onto the sheets, she realized, and if she could have been any more turned on, then that would have done it. “I…” She sucked in a breath. “I trust you. It already feels good. Just… just touch me and we’ll figure out the rest from there.”

Everything felt good. Mercedes started her slow—which she appreciated, even if there was no need for it—until she found a pattern that worked, and then the way Mercedes was moving inside of her didn’t matter so much as how hard Dorothea was going to come against her once she did. What had started out comfortable quickly became frantic, and she could feel Mercedes reach inside of her, where she _wanted_ her, and dug into her skin with her hands and her thighs until she was riding her bodily into her peak. She felt herself clench around her fingers once, and then again, and then over and over until it all blurred together and she was swearing and panting her name with every thrill of pleasure that surged through her body.

Her climax came later and lasted longer than it usually did, and by the time it was over, she was totally spent. Mercedes pulled out of her only when she lay perfectly still.

But Goddess, was “perfect” the word for it. She could have lain there forever.

“Good?” Mercedes asked, after Dorothea had managed to somewhat catch her breath.

“Amazing. Holy shit.” She covered her eyes with her arm and laughed. “What were you so worried about?”

“Are you, um,” her eyes darted from left to right, “are you always like that?”

“In bed? No. No, I never come like that. I just… I like you a lot. That’s why.”

“Mm,” said Mercedes, in that adorably frustrating way.

She turned her head as the space between her legs began to make perfectly unflattering noises, and blushed. “Ah.”

“Do you have a change of sheets?”

“Fuck the sheets. I mean, yes. Later. I’m so tired. Goddess. Where do you get all that energy from?”

“Seeing you so exhausted, maybe.”

She laughed again. “Fair.” She rolled onto her side. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving already.”

“No. Well. Not like this.”

“It’s late, anyway. Stay with me,” Dorothea said.

“Do you have a washcloth?”

“Uh.” Dorothea sat up. “There’s some extras in the drawer next to my underwear.” She watched as Mercedes pulled one out and wiped her hand. “Sothis.” She smiled wryly. “It’s all business with you, isn’t it?”

Mercedes handed it to her, and she wiped off her own hand. Then Mercedes sat next to her and pressed against her, shoulder to shoulder.

“Did you like it, at least?” Dorothea asked.

Mercedes stared at her.

“W-well,” Dorothea stuttered, “I mean, I did make you orgasm, so…”

She looked down and blushed. “It’s… How do I put this… I like it. I like being with you. I don’t feel, um, particularly—desirable? I suppose is the word. I don’t think I could ever seduce you. Maybe I’m just embarrassed right now.” She laughed. “I don’t know. I feel like whenever I’m with you, all these secrets keep pouring out of me.”

Dorothea opened her mouth. “Secrets?”

“Well,” she said, “now you know that I wasn’t a virgin before this.”

“Ah.” True.

“It’s not something I’m up to sharing right now. I like you. You’re confident in the way you move—and you have confidence in yourself, that you can be around me and make me feel safe. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to relax,” she breathed out, “but you make me feel good. I want this for you. I want to come for you.” She blushed deeper. “Does that make sense?”

Dorothea laughed to hide her embarrassment. “If that’s how you want to think of it, then that’s fine. Don’t feel pressured to ask for it if you don’t want it, though.”

“That was never the case.”

“All right, all right.” _You want to come for me, eh?_ She bit it back. She wasn’t going to make herself sound like a sleaze. She already wanted her again—so much for being spent—but forced herself to wait. “If you’re done, then…” She reached over the bed for her discarded clothes. “Why don’t we go to sleep? We can wash everything in the morning.”

Mercedes moved and picked up her shift off the floor. It rustled as she pulled it on, and her skin disappeared beneath the cloth, scars and all.

“I’m going to remember that,” said Dorothea, as she pulled her nightgown over her head.

“Remember what?”

 _Shut up shut up shut up._ “That you said you wanted to come for me.”

Mercedes looked at her. Her face was unreadable, as usual. She pressed a hand to her chest. “Why wouldn’t I,” she said, “since after all,” and Dorothea swore her voice dropped half an octave lower, “you would do the same for me. Wouldn’t you?”

She opened her mouth, and then closed it, and then opened it again, like a dying fish.

She was really starting to hate those fish.

“Yes,” she finally said, and pressed their foreheads together. “Goddess, yes. I’ll come however you want me to, as many times as you want. I’ll come until you’re sick of it.”

“You’d certainly like to try, wouldn’t you?”

Dorothea’s grin took on an edge. “Don’t push me.”

“I won’t.” Mercedes kissed her chastely. “Not now.”

Dorothea put out the candles and slipped into bed—they barely fit—and dreamed of sex, and herb gardens, and a little secret corner somewhere they could fritter the evening away, unnoticed and uncaring, while the rest of the world droned lazily on.


End file.
